


Of Titles and Turf

by Holmes



Category: Mormor (extremely distantly)
Genre: Coaching, Football, Soccer, University, confusing character names, nothing but OCs, this is not the Charles Xavier you are looking for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4545228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holmes/pseuds/Holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Charles Xavier is led astray by a problematic boyfriend, the once-happy-go-lucky doctor finds himself in a profession that he doesn't enjoy and a shell of his former self. When his boyfriend's substance hobbies (and a few strings pulled by the elusive Moriarty) lands his partner in prison, X is forced to move on. With moving on, he heals. Realizing his passions once more, he becomes Coach X.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Titles and Turf

X rose with the sun on a Saturday morning, moving through the routine. He shaved, made coffee, and skimmed the news between bites of cereal. Next he changed, pulling on his trainers and at last fixing a cap over his head. He glanced his own reflection in a mirror on his way out and smiled. He wasn’t Dr. X today.

 

He was Coach X.

 

He left his flat, locking up and making his way on foot to the field a few blocks down, the first to arrive on the dewy grass.

 

Soon enough, they came. Just one or two at first, and then they came in large groups, five or six at a time until there were 54 strong young men lined up in front of him.

 

It was summer training season. Each boy was a hopeful star for the upcoming football season at King’s College. And X was in charge of them all.

 

He was a perfect match. A football lover with experience in the university football league, and a doctor to boot. He had a working knowledge of human anatomy as well as how to execute the perfect fake step over shot.

 

Yes, X reflected with a faint smile. This was the perfect job for him. Everything—the struggle of med school, the dead-end hopelessness he felt when Cal had gone to prison, the lack of meaning behind his practice—it was all just leading up to this.

 

Coach X was striding up the line of boys now, examining each with a calculating but friendly face, his hands clasped behind his back.

 

“Right now, you are just players,” X began, his voice carefully projected. “A team of men—some new to the team, others who have been here quite a time—being led by an unknown coach.”

 

X paused, taking in the hope on a few of the younger faces, and trepidation on the more senior boys of the group. He turned on his heels having reached the end of the line, and began a slow walk back down.

 

“But while I am new to coaching, I am nowhere near new to football,” he went on. “I played in grade school all the way through uni, and I know what it takes to win a game, to win a season, and to push each and every one of you to become more than players. My number one goal for this season is to become a team. A support system of strength, quality, and integrity. We will win and lose with grace, and we will never wonder if we could have done more because we will be pushing to our limits every day. _Is that clear?_ ”

 

X bellowed the last words, and was met with an equally-sharp _yes sir!_ from the line of men. X had to stop his face from utterly lighting up, maintaining his stern gaze as he took a few steps back, sizing up his men all at once.

 

“I _said_ ,” he repeated, his chest heaving as he took great gulps of air in anticipation of his next words. “ _Is that clear?!_ ”

 

“ _YES SIR!_ ”

 

The man indulged himself in a single half-smile, then, staring at his team with a pleased look on his face.

 

“My name is Charles Xavier, M.D.,” he said, introducing himself to the team with a confidence he hadn’t felt in years. “From now on, I will be your coach, your mentor, and your doctor.”

 

X heard a soft mutter run through the crowd, and his smile widened slightly.

 

“But you can call me Coach X.”


End file.
